


Our Birthdays

by Multiple_Universes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Canon Universe, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 10:58:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiple_Universes/pseuds/Multiple_Universes
Summary: Victor Nikiforov has had all kinds of birthdays over the years, from early ones with his family to lonely ones on his own. Yuuri Katsuki, on the other hand, spent most of his birthdays thinking about his idol and chasing his shadow. What would a birthday together be like?





	Our Birthdays

**Author's Note:**

> 48 hours late, but I managed to finish it. Hooray!
> 
> (We're going to ignore the fact that this is a birthday fic that I wrote because of my own birthday. You didn't hear that. shhh)

The first birthday Victor Nikiforov could remember was when he turned three. His parents took him to a children’s party to celebrate the upcoming New Year. He was in a poufy white dress and a white headpiece. His parents had dressed him as a snowflake.

“Go play with the other kids,” his mother encouraged him while he clung to her leg and peered out with a terrified expression on his face.

His father laughed. “Let him take his time.”

Victor let go eventually and even made a friend, but his friend’s family moved away several months later and he never saw him again. Of course he didn’t know that on his birthday and that day it felt like this friend would be with him forever.

 

By the time he turned five he’d already started skating, but when people asked him who he wanted to be when he grew up he gave the answer many five year olds did:

“I’m going to fly to the Moon!”

He woke up early on the morning of his fifth birthday and, instead of going through the pile of presents in front of his bed, he tiptoed into his parents’ bedroom and slipped into the bed and under the blankets with them.

They threw their arms around him, tickled him and covered his cheeks with kisses, making him giggle.

Afterwards they watched him go through the presents one by one. Half of the packages were from his extended family – grandparents, uncles, aunts and other relatives who were related to him in some mysterious ways.

Then the phone rang and rang until it seemed as if he would spent all day answering phone calls.

He sat in the kitchen, speaking into the phone like a grownup, dangling his legs because the chair was too tall for him while his father made breakfast and his mother set the table.

His parents sang songs about birthdays, exchanging smiles and catching each other’s hands.

Victor tried not to giggle as he watched them and pretended to listen to some really old aunty wish him success in life.

They always got carried away like this. His mother offered up her cheek for his father to kiss and Victor put a hand over his mouth. They turned, saw him looking and burst out laughing.

“Your mother is the queen of my heart,” his father told him, forgetting that Victor was on the phone. “One day you’ll find someone who will rule over your heart too.”

“Will I have to sing with them?” Victor asked, forgetting about the aunty for a moment.

“Only if you want to,” his mother promised.

 

His seventh birthday was the day after a competition. He’d won, but it wasn’t a very serious competition. Nevertheless his parents cheered him on from their seats, shouting at the top of their voices as if they were at a hockey game. They were so happy he won that he promised them he’d win every single competition.

He was really tired after his competition, but the next day he woke up full of energy.

“Mother!” he exclaimed, jumping onto the bed and landing right between his parents. “Father! Stop sleeping! Get up! Let’s go! Let’s go!”

They rose with groans and complaints and then threw the blanket around him, trapping him and carried him out of the room together.

Victor laughed, throwing his head back and letting his long hair hang down below him.

They carried him all the way into his own bedroom and then played hide and seek while Victor put his clothes on. Somehow, he ended up pulling his pants on while hiding under the bed while his parents were looking inside his toy box to see if he was there.

Victor crawled out and slipped out the door and then yelled, “I won!”

His reward was another pile of presents and his father’s delicious pancakes.

And just as breakfast ended and he got up to suggest they go skate together the phone rang. It was a phone call that turned his life upside down.

His mother answered it and had a long conversation in a very serious voice. Then she had a serious conversation with his father after which they sat Victor down (he had too much energy to sit and just jumped on the couch in the living room while he waited) and asked him what he wanted.

“Did you enjoy the competition yesterday, Viten’ka?” his mother asked.

He looked from her to his father. Was this a trick question? Or some kind of joke? He knew that sometimes adults asked questions only to hear specific answers and he wondered what they wanted to hear him say.

“Yes,” he said, opting for honesty. “I had lots of fun, mama!”

She crouched down in front of him so that their faces were at the same height. “There’s a man who wants to teach you how to skate better so you can continue competing and winning.” She exchanged a look with Victor’s father. “I know it’s a lot to ask so soon, but do you want to do figure skating for the rest of your life?”

He thought about this. It was fun, of course, and it made his parents so happy. He raised his eyes and stared up at them. He wanted to see them happy, he decided, always smiling, and singing, and laughing.

“Yes,” he answered, throwing his life away with a single word.

 

Afterwards he hated himself and them for it. When he turned eight he locked himself away from the world and cried. There were no more silly games, no more delicious breakfasts with his parents singing, no more impulse visits to the zoo, or delicious snacks.

There was only skating, nothing but skating. Even the food he ate was, somehow, determined by figure skating.

He spent his eighth birthday with his coach, Yakov, doing his best not to cry when the old man shouted at him.

 

By his ninth birthday he learned to enjoy it all. It was so easy. He was a natural. And the breakfasts, and the hide-and-seek, and the silly pastimes all faded away.

He spent every day, every free hour, training. Sometimes he was in the rink, sometimes he was in the ballet studio and sometimes he was just outside running.

Everything was for figure skating. Everything was so that he could compete.

 

On his sixteenth birthday he cut his hair because he was angry with the world and by the time he turned seventeen he regretted it.

 

By his twentieth birthday he learned to take it all in his stride. He went to his parents’ apartment to celebrate with them and smiled when they got all excited over his achievements in figure skating. His parents' neighbours and relatives dropped by to say hello and congratulate him on his recent medal. He accepted it all with the same smile he put on for the press.

 

His twenty-second birthday didn’t exist. He spent most of it in the hospital and not really awake, so it didn’t count at all.

When his parents came they asked the same question everyone else did.

“Maybe you should retire from figure skating,” his mother suggested gently. “You’re a two-time World Champion already, Viten’ka. Surely that’s enough?”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t tell his mother that competing was all he knew how to do. He didn’t tell her that figure skating was all he ever thought about. He barely knew about the world outside. Oh, he’d read books, of course, but what were books compared to real places and real things?

He didn’t think about it. He didn’t think about how useless he would be outside the world of figure skating. Instead, he thought about Makkachin, his loyal dog, and said nothing.

Poor Makkachin was probably getting worried about him.

 

The first half of Victor’s twenty-fifth birthday passed at a competition and the second – in a karaoke bar, surrounded by skaters all of whom were almost as drunk as he was.

He sang “I will Always Love You” at the top of his voice, getting all the notes wrong.

His friend Chris pushed his hand away as Victor reached for another glass. “I think that’s enough vodka for one night,” he said softly.

“Why?” Victor demanded.

“Because you’re drunk.”

“Drunk?” Victor asked loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m not drunk!”

Chris raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but said nothing.

“I’m not!” Victor insisted and froze.

The music played on, but everyone was staring at him and not saying a word.

There were tears pouring down his face.

“I _am_ drunk,” he finally managed to say. “I’m going back to my room.”

He turned around and walked out without even bothering with a proper goodbye.

Chris caught up with him outside and they walked back to the hotel in silence.

Neither of them mentioned the incident ever again, but Victor avoided karaoke bars for a long time afterwards.

 

Victor spent his twenty-seventh birthday at home, sitting in his kitchen with Makkachin curled up at his feet. He rested his chin on his hand and daydreamed about a dark-haired Japanese boy. He imagined them singing and dancing together in the kitchen and hummed a song from his childhood under his breath.

His phone was on the table next to him and he waited patiently for it to ring. He was prepared to wait all day long, if he had to.

Any minute now it would ring. Any minute now, he was sure…

 

***

 

Yuuri Katsuki’s third birthday wasn’t all that special. In fact, he couldn’t even remember it.

 

When he turned five his sister Mari spoiled him and took him to his favourite candy store where she bought him everything he asked for.

As they walked back home together he generously allowed her to have one of the sweets.

 

On his seventh birthday Yuuri had no life-changing experience. His mother did buy some train tickets for their whole family to take a trip to a nearby zoo, though.

He insisted on staying until the zoo closed and the zookeepers asked them to leave as politely as they could.

“Thank you, mama,” he said and clung on as tightly as he could.

Hiroko laughed.

 

His eighth, ninth and tenth birthdays went by uneventfully with no promise of something extraordinary for the eleventh.

And then between his tenth and eleventh his life took an unexpected turn.

At ten and a half Yuuri was obsessed and had only one name on his lips: Victor Nikiforov. No one could skate like Victor Nikiforov. No one could jump like Victor Nikiforov. No one could ever hope to spin like Victor Nikiforov. Victor Nikiforov was going to win everything. Each competition he entered he won, leaving the rest of the contestants way behind him. He was making figure skating history. In short, Victor Nikiforov was the best thing to happen to the world.

On his eleventh birthday Yuuri wanted only one thing: to be Victor Nikiforov, or – better still – to meet him.

Mari got him his first ever poster for his room and his hands shook as he taped it to the wall.

“Wow,” he whispered, staring up at that graceful figure with long silver hair.

Mari watched from the doorway, her head tilted to the side and a smile on her face. She’d saved up for two weeks to buy this poster for Yuuri, but seeing the way his face lit up when he unpacked it was worth it.

 

On his twelfth birthday he got wonderfully close to Victor. His parents bought him a poodle just like Victor’s and he proudly named him after his idol: Vicchan.

The first thing Yuuri did when he got Vicchan was run to show him off to Yuuko.

“Aww! You got a poodle! Just like Victor’s poodle!” she squealed in delight. “You’re really obsessed with him, aren’t you?”

He blushed and didn’t dare say anything else. But she didn’t tease him any more after that.

Vicchan licked his face and Yuuri laughed.

 

At sixteen, when everyone around him was dating or sighing over crushes, Yuuri was giving his wall a critical look and wondering where to fit the three new posters of Victor Mari had bought for him.

 

At twenty people around him were starting to get disillusioned about their idols. One celebrity turned out to have an awful personality. Another celebrity said something nasty in public. Some idols just came and went: people lost interest and moved on to idolizing others.

But Yuuri stayed loyal to Victor. He’d moved to Detroit by then and got more posters to take with him and decorate his walls there.

“So you like Victor, huh?” his roommate Phichit said when he moved in with Yuuri.

Yuuri turned away as if studying one of the posters, trying to hide his face. “Isn’t his skating amazing?”

“That’s a rhetorical question, right?” Phichit teased and then elbowed Yuuri. “Oh come on, you’re allowed to say it! What’s best about him isn’t his skating, but his –”

Yuuri jumped up, turning bright red. “Ah! I forgot to buy milk!”

Phichit watched him run out with a laugh. “Definitely his “ah”.”

 

On his twenty-third birthday Yuuri was celebrating with Phichit the fact that he made it to the Grand Prix Final.

“You have to get his autograph,” Phichit insisted.

They’d already had several glasses of wine and Yuuri heard something else. He giggled.

After finishing a bottle Phichit persuaded Yuuri to write a love letter to his idol that described in great detail everything Yuuri liked about Victor.

Even drunk out of his wits Yuuri wrote a letter that went on about triple axels and the quad flip, no matter what Phichit did. Phichit was determined to make some corrections, but they were both too drunk to write anything really coherent.

Finally, when the scribbles on the paper looked like a love sonnet worthy of Shakespeare in Yuuri’s eyes (“what rhymes with axel?” “who knows?”), he got up, declared that he was going to post his love confession, tripped over his feet and fell face-first into sleep.

He woke up the next day in his bed with no idea how he got there, or any memory of the night before.

The letter vanished mysteriously and was never seen again, but Phichit wasn’t going to let that stop him: he was determined to get Yuuri to write a new one.

 

***

 

The phone call never came. The letter was never sent.

 

***

 

On his twenty-eighth birthday Victor woke up in an empty bed. He turned over, mumbling something and then sat up sharply.

Where was Yuuri?

And then an idea occurred to him and he pulled his blanket up with a happy smile. Yuuri was going to treat him to breakfast in bed, wasn’t he?

But his beautiful fiancé didn’t come into the room with a tray in his hands piled high with food. He didn’t even call out for Victor to join him for breakfast.

After waiting for what felt like forever Victor got up and headed straight for the kitchen.

It was empty.

A thorough check of every room revealed that neither Yuuri nor Makkachin were anywhere in the apartment.

 _He must’ve gone out for a walk with Makkachin,_ Victor decided.

But an hour passed and still they didn’t come back.

Victor showered, brushed his teeth and got dressed. He had breakfast, but still nothing.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed, pulling it out.

But it was just a text. And from the other Yuri.

_Why the hell aren’t you at practice? The old man is losing it._

Victor sighed, got his things and left.

Some birthday!

Practice was the exact same as the day before. No, worse – Victor was _sure_ that Yakov was shouting more than usual and picking on him.

Yuuri, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

Several gruelling hours later practice was over and Victor held his breath, waiting for Yuuri to run in and for everyone to say that it was all a prank and how funny his face was, or something like that.

But this didn’t happen either.

He forgot! Yuuri forgot about his birthday!

Victor pulled his skates off and put on his running shoes, tying the shoelaces up angrily.

Yuuri was going to make up for this. He better make up for this.

Victor zipped up his bag, thinking of all the ways Yuuri would make up for forgetting. He walked home, propelled by this thought.

How could Yuuri do something like this? How could he?

He paused at the door, his key in his hand. Here he was thinking he would finally get to celebrate his birthday with someone he loved, but that someone…

He sighed and unlocked the door.

Makkachin ran out to greet him and he sat down to greet his dog. “Hello, Makkachin. You remember my birthday, right?”

He laughed as Makkachin licked his face and got up to take his coat and shoes off.

“Where is Yuuri?” he asked softly.

Makkachin barked and headed for the living room. Victor followed him, trying to suppress the smile that rose to his face. He was angry, so very, very angry.

The living room was empty, but a light from the kitchen was illuminating part of it. Victor peered into the kitchen and spotted the table set with a dinner for two, complete with two burning candles.

A pair of arms circled around him and a kiss was pressed to his cheek. “Happy birthday, Victor,” Yuuri whispered into his ear.

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed. “You remembered!”

“Of course I did!”

Victor turned his head and caught a kiss with his lips. He was overflowing with joy, almost dancing on the spot.

Yuuri released him and stepped back. He was really nicely dressed in the white shirt Victor had bought for Yuuri’s birthday.

“I’ll go change into something nice,” Victor said and caught Yuuri around the waist. “I really thought… I thought…” he stammered out and stopped.

Yuuri laughed and rubbed his nose against Victor’s. “…that I forgot?” he finished for Victor. “I was just trying to get the last few details sorted out.”

He had nothing to say to that, so he left Yuuri to change. He returned with a big smile to take all the details in.

Yuuri had cooked an elaborate meal and set the table with their best dishes and cutlery – a present from Victor’s parents when he moved out to live on his own.

“I have some presents,” Yuuri said and made to leave the room.

Victor caught him around the waist and pulled him close. “Are you going to spoil me rotten?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said, nodding gravely. “Today you can have anything you want.” The blood rose to his face as he realized how his words sounded, but he wasn’t going to take them back. “Anything,” he repeated.

There was a sly look on Victor’s face. “Oh my!” He lowered his voice. “Yuuri,” he whispered, “I have a request.”

“Y-yes?” Yuuri stammered out.

Victor brushed a lock of Yuuri’s hair aside and whispered into Yuuri’s ear. “Will you sing with me?”

Yuuri nodded.

Dinner passed in a tender silence. Yuuri smiled at Victor over the table, putting a hand over Victor’s from time to time or reaching out with his knee under the table.

Victor didn’t let Yuuri wash the dishes. He just swept him away into the living room to drop down onto the couch and pull his fiancé down onto his lap.

“Let’s sing,” he said.

“What do you want to sing?” Yuuri asked as Victor fiddled with his hair.

Victor went on fiddling like someone who wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. “Whatever you want,” he said after a while.

Yuuri bit his lip as he mentally went through all the songs he knew and tried to remember one that would suit their evening.

Victor whispered something so softly that Yuuri couldn’t make out the words. He raised his voice a little and went on. He was singing in a voice that was working its way from a whisper to a normal volume. He was also singing in Russian.

Yuuri closed his eyes and listened. He didn’t understand every word, but he did understand most of them. Victor sang about being in love, about being happy and enjoying life. Yuuri reclined onto Victor’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He let Victor hold him close and for a moment he thought it was his own birthday.

When Victor finished Yuuri opened his eyes. “I don’t know this song.”

“I’ll teach you.”

They stayed up late learning songs from each other’s childhood. At 2 in the morning they returned to the kitchen to do the dishes and went on singing.

“I wanted to take you to an expensive restaurant,” Yuuri admitted in a break between songs, “but I wasn’t sure which one to pick. Take me to your favourite spot tomorrow,” he smiled down at the dish in his hands and then remembered to look at Victor. “I want to see all your favourite places.”

Victor laughed.

It was Yuuri’s first week in St. Petersburg. It was no wonder Yuuri needed an entire day to prepare for the evening! With Yakov’s training schedule and Victor’s eagerness to be ready for the Russian Nationals he hadn’t gotten a chance to show Yuuri around much, never mind favourite places. That’s not to mention all of Yuuri’s stuff still sitting in boxes somewhere.

“Tomorrow,” Victor said and grinned. “I’ll take you to all my favourite places tomorrow.”

“No, no you can’t do that for my sake!” Yuuri protested. “You have the Nationals to think about.”

Victor wanted to argue and say that this would make up for that morning, but Yuuri interrupted with his own solution.

“How about this?” Yuuri suggested. “Tomorrow evening you’ll take me to one spot and then another one the evening after that and so on. We can make it a date for each spot you like.”

An indignant bark sounded from under the table.

Victor turned to face Makkachin. “We might take you, but only if you’re good. This is my alone time with Yuuri.”

Yuuri laughed and Victor caught another kiss. “Aren’t you worried I will run out of places to go after a week?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Victor pretended to give these words some serious thought. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I really only have one favourite place – all of St. Petersburg.”

 

And on his twenty-ninth birthday Victor got everything he wanted – breakfast in bed, a stroll down his favourite streets and dinner in the restaurant he liked best, but, most importantly of all, he got to spend a day with the king of his heart and not a single sad thought crossed his mind that day.


End file.
